Domino
by SleepingSeeker
Summary: 2k14 movie-verse. Leo and Donnie go back to retrieve the remaining canisters of their blood. Donnie has Leo search for more, who he finds instead changes his life's path, forever. He just doesn't know it yet. Now a multi-chapter because I'm insane when it comes to these two.
1. Chapter 1

**Domino**

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Donatello, tongue poking slightly out from the corner of his mouth, unscrewed the glass canister. Fingers moving around and over it swiftly and gently.

"Come to poppa," Donnie mumbled. He twisted and set it carefully into the large duffle where two more sat.

Leo stood up from where he crouched, watching his brother disconnect the remaining vats of their collected blood. He ran a hand over his left bicep. A bruise was forming where one of the few lingering Foot soldiers had gotten in a hit with a metal bo staff. There weren't many when Don and he had arrived, and they'd made short work of the men. The rest of the compound remained empty and still. Eerie.

He turned his arm over and grimaced at the still-unhealed puncture wounds from where Sacks had injected the tubing to collect his blood. It was a mild concern, that he and his brothers had still not quite healed, but it was the least of his worries at the moment. He wanted to get what they had to and get out of here. Just being in the lab where he and his brothers had been tormented, treated like animals and stared at like circus freaks made his skin crawl.

Donnie looked up, "Uh Leo? You may want to also check the grounds, you know, in case they had any in the vehicles."

Leonardo nodded, mulled it over. "Is that even a possibility, though?"

Donnie shrugged. "We have to be meticulous, brother. If there's any evidence, no matter how miniscule, we need to dispose of it. Besides I can store this in case one of us ever need a transfusion."

"Okay," Leo turned. "Call Raph and Mikey. Let them know we'll be at least another hour. I'll go scout around."

He jogged down the long corridors, footsteps echoing as he made his way to the docking doors leading from the garage in the compound to the outside. The blast of frigid air made him falter. He turned and made his way to the van, pulled open the side door, and retrieved a long black coat. Shivering he threw it on. It helped, but not much. Winter was not a pleasant time for him or his brothers, and being out in the cold temperatures not only made him feel clumsy and muddle-headed, it slowed him down. Still, determined to follow through on Donatello's concerns, he began scouring the area for any evidence of more containers. Night was falling, making the drifts of snow stand out stark and bright. The swirling patterns of flakes illuminated in the twilight.

His feet moved through the trail the vehicles had left, though the tracks were quickly filling in with a light snow, heavy once it started to accumulate. He brushed off his shoulder, pulled up the collar of the coat and shuffled down a ridge. He stopped and braced one foot onto a boulder sticking up from the rocky ground. He leaned over his thigh. His eyes scanned the slope for any traces of canisters. A few yards down a piece of metal protruded from between two straggly trees.

He worked his way down, skipping and sliding part of the way from the steep incline. Snow bunched and rolled in mini avalanches around his boot-clad feet. He crouched and brushed snow away from the object; nothing. Part of one of the electrical harpoons they had used on him. He suppressed a shudder with the memory of the pain that coursed through his body. The agony it caused. Enough to make him black out. One hand rubbed the still tender area in his upper chest where he'd been shot, twice.

His face shot up as the wind brought a sound that was not the creaking of bare branches. He stilled, listening hard. Tilted his head. There. Again. Sounded like a voice, a moan. Someone in trouble.

He stood up, debating whether or not to leave it. It could be one of the men. Should he just go? The wind buffeted against him, billowing out the ends of his coat, causing the soft flakes to bite and sting at his face and neck. He pulled his coat around him tighter and for reasons he didn't understand, decided to investigate the source of the sound.

Further down the ridge, Foot vehicles remained where they'd left them; overturned, busted and dented. Steadily gathering snow, icicles clung from shattered rear-view mirrors. They glinted in the darkening twilight. A yellow hummer caught the corner of his eye and what he thought was something moving. He tensed.

The moan came again. It originated from that particular vehicle. He inched his way around the back of the wreck. He peered through the cracked glass, searching. He made out a hand, streaked in blood, fingers reaching and tightening around a strap hanging from the ceiling. Someone was trapped inside. Though a large part of his brain told him to just leave the soldier to his fate, Leonardo couldn't bring himself to be so heartless. He could at least pry open a door so the person inside could manage to escape, then they could get themselves up to the compound and call for help. While and he his brother would be long gone with what they'd come there to retrieve.

Glancing around and finding himself still alone in the forest, he moved to the side and climbed up to brace his feet atop the wrecked vehicle. The body of it rocked and groaned with his weight. Taking hold of the handle, yanked it with a grunt. The vehicle lurched and fell back. He swayed to one side, nearly falling off as his boot slid against the uneven surface, but steadied himself.

Inside, he heard a soft cry of distress. The soldier was female, he realized with a start. Not that he should be surprised, but Leonardo hadn't really thought about the fact that some of the soldiers they had fought were possibly women. He swallowed, feeling unsettled at the thought. Disturbed. The need to assist the person trapped renewed in a much stronger urge. He pulled again and this time the door wrenched free, slamming against the damaged side. Bits of glass sprinkled over the side. Leonardo, jumped back and off, shuffling his feet through the building snow, fists balled and ready for a fight; then when no one emerged, he crept back.

Peeking slowly over the edge, his eyes adjusted to the dark interior just as they met and locked on a pair of luminous green eyes gazing back into his. His mouth went dry. His heart stumbled. He coughed and collected himself. The woman had black hair with deep pink highlights, and her uniform was Foot. Recognition flared. She was the one that had shot him a second time when he'd gone to pull April and Vern from the cab of the truck. He'd only gotten a glimpse before his senses were rocked with the agony of the wire penetrating him and shooting him through with bolts of electric agony. Everything inside him screamed to retreat and get away from here as fast as possible. But a trail of thick blood worked its molasses-slow trek down the side of her pale cheek. Ice crystals laced the tips of her lashes.

"You're hurt," he said gruffly.

The woman merely blinked at him, oval face blank; eyes deep and watchful. Full of distrust and wariness. A gleam of something else; most likely, fear. She probably thought he was there to finish her off. His fingers gripped the sides of the doorway tightly. He ducked his head, but offered her no reassurances. Her body was twisted and bent at an awkward angle. He noted her trembling and wondered if it was fear of him or the cold that made her shake. Something inside him pulled tautly. His throat worked as he swallowed again. He could not leave, not now. He huffed and hesitantly, then with resolve, reached down. Her hand shot up, gripping his in a surprisingly tight hold. He froze.

"I am tangled in the seat belt. My leg is broken." She spoke with an accented voice, wavering slightly from the pain.

She released his arm. Without a word, he reached back and took a tanto from his belt. He lifted it so she could see and she eyed the blade with a blank expression. Was she afraid? If she was, she showed none of it on her face, despite her suffering. Leo couldn't help but be impressed. He positioned himself to lean further into the cramped space. Her free hand tentatively rested on the rim of his shell and shoulder. He felt her icy fingertips through the coat. Did his best to ignore the tingling that accompanied it. Chalked it up to a reaction from the cold of her skin. His head was but a few inches from her face and he glanced sideways at her. She returned his gaze and remained impassive and withdrawn. Watching him with a steady, determined expression. He wondered at her control. She'd been trapped here, in pain, for forty-eight hours; no idea of when and how rescue might come; discovered by one of the men she'd been ordered to capture and kill; but showed no sign of fright. No cowardice. It was impressive, to say the least.

His fingers traveled down, from the mangled interior behind her; finding where her opposite arm had tangled and been pinned behind and beneath her. He had to work the edge of the blade carefully so as not to cut into her. He felt her breath, hot and soft, ghosting across the back of his neck, felt his skin prickle and warm. Leo refocused, setting his jaw in a determined expression. The tip of the tanto slipped under the thick belt and Leo moved his wrist in a tiny up and down motion. The vehicle suddenly shifted from his weight and the awkward angle he was positioned in.

He lurched forward, into her, unable to halt his progression. His face smashed into her chest, his shoulders jammed into her. He felt her tense. Her shivering body going rigid and shuddering with pain. But she made no sound aside from a sharp inhale. He could smell the copper notes of her blood, the salty-sweet scent of her sweat, as well as the underlying notes of something more feminine; cherry blossoms. His throat closed.

"I-I'm sorry, ma'am" he said in a rushed hoarse voice, propping his hand against the side of her seat and doing his best to get his bulk off her. In a swift motion, he cut the strap as he retreated back, bracing his hips better so that he wouldn't crush her a second time if the vehicle shifted.

She quaked and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her eyes were narrowed and glassy. "Don't call me that again," she ground out between clenched teeth.

Leo blinked, gave an abrupt nod. "I'm going to lift you out of the vehicle," Leo explained slowly, his eyes locked on hers. She nodded brokenly. "It may hurt. Hold on to me."

Her hands shook badly as she reached up and took hold of his shoulders, her icy fingertips digging in and pinching the fabric into her fists. Leo eased his hands up under her armpits and started to drag her up and out. Her arms went around his neck as she pressed her face into his chest, into the same tender spot where she had shot him with the harpoon. He faltered for a fraction of a second, not wanting to cause her any more pain, but knowing there was no other way to do this. He braced his knees and inhaled.

"Here we go," he said softly.

"Get it over with," she ordered, her lips moving against his skin making him tremble before he could stop himself. He pulled her out in one smooth, swift motion.

Her body pressed into his. On a subconscious level, he took note of every curve, every sharp angle of her, every delicately layered scent on her; memorizing it to pour over later, when alone in his room and free to examine his motives and actions, he would think of her eyes, deep and mysterious, of her hair, matted with blood, but still like silk where it brushed against his neck and face; mostly, of the way she felt against him. So small, fragile; like an injured bird. How the surge of protectiveness washed through him. How he knew what he was doing was the right thing. That to leave her there would have been wrong; criminal. Unthinkable. Dishonorable.

He stumbled back, as gracefully and gently as he could manage. He felt her arms tighten around his neck; her mouth open, felt her teeth digging into the front of his plastron covered chest, sending a sharp but not unpleasant jolt through him. His breath hitched. He felt heat course through him despite the frigid air billowing around them. Shamefully, he felt himself harden. His face colored. He chastised himself for being weak; disgusted with himself.

She inhaled, sucking hard, and then went limp in his arms. A rag doll. Broken and helpless. Doing his best to keep himself calm, he gathered her up, mindful of her leg and hurried through the now shin-deep snow. Eyes wide, he took in the matted blood, the patches of bruising near her collar bone. She'd need medical attention as soon as possible.

At the compound, Donatello placed the duffle into the back of the van. He turned to greet Leonardo. "Did you find anything?" His face dropped. His eyes nearly popped out of his head from behind his glasses as he took in the bundle in his brother's arms. "What are you doing? Who is that? Is that one of the soldiers? It is!" he squeaked. Leonardo glanced at him but said nothing. "What are you doing? Are you out of your mind?" Don's volley of questions piled up as Leonardo strode past him into the garage. Donatello followed on his heels. "Where are you going? That's one of the Foot soldiers. Leo, Leo?"

With one leg, Leo kicked several crates out of the way. "Get a blanket," he ordered and Donatello stood in place, blinking. Leo turned his head. "She's in shock. Get a blanket."

"Leo," Donatello licked his lips and glanced around. What was going on here?

The look his brother shot him had him putting up his hands and hurrying out to the van, muttering under his breath that his brother must have hit his head or something out in the fields. He dashed back inside where Leo was carefully laying the woman down. He handed the blanket to his brother and watched him cover her. Noted the tender care that he used as he tucked it around her, patting her shoulder once, fingers lingering for a moment before withdrawing. Donatello blinked hard. What the heck was going on?

Leo sat back on his haunches. Rubbed his hand over his head and glanced over his shoulder at Don. "I couldn't leave her out there."

Donnie nodded, crossed his arms. He braced one finger against his lip, nibbled on it. "I understand. I do. Sure. Only . . . uh, I'd like to point out the obvious and state the fact out loud in case it hasn't crossed your mind – she's in the Foot Clan." He pointed to the symbol just visible over the edge of the blanket. "The Foot Clan, Leo."

"Call an ambulance."

"Right. Call an ambulance. Okay," Donatello looked around, at a loss. "Sure. Yes. That's . . . probably, uh, the right thing to do, I suppose. I'll do it on our way. Leo, you know I don't care for repeating myself but you do know that's one of the Foot. You know, the people who were working with Sacks. The ones that nearly killed us."

Leo stood up, moved in front of him. Their eyes met. "Call one now."

Donnie blinked, then slowly reached up and pressed a button on the modified Bluetooth connected to his gear. His eyes bounced between Leo's. His brother had lost it. "Okay, uh, calling one now."

Leo turned and glanced at the woman he'd rescued. His heart pounded and with some reluctance, he turned away. Donatello was just disconnecting as Leo nodded, "Let's go."

Without a word spoken between them, they piled into the van and peeled out, taking the back roads towards the city. Donatello gave him a sidelong glance. He shook his head, glanced at him again but kept his mouth shut. His hands slid back and forth over the top of the steering wheel. He shifted in his seat.

Leo broke the uncomfortable silence between them, "She'd been out there, alone, with a broken leg for two days."

Donatello considered this. Wondered what his brother was driving at.

"Will she be okay?" Leo asked.

Donatello blinked, frowned deeply. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. In a soft voice he answered, "Does it really matter?"

Leo started at the response, then pressed his mouth into a tight line, staring out the windshield to the black, winding road in front of the van, the passing trees a blur of white and gray and black. From the corner of his vision he noted his brother's bemused and slightly angry expression, felt Donatello's building irritation with him and couldn't help but wonder what exactly _had_ he been thinking when he rescued her. He knew what she was and who she worked for: the Foot Clan. But she was just a soldier, a pawn. Probably just following orders. Got herself mixed up with the wrong group. If given the chance, he was sure she'd probably leave the organization.

Donatello's voice broke through his defensive line of thought, startling him into realizing that he'd just been making excuses for someone who wanted them dead. What the hell was wrong with him? His jaw worked. Enough of this.

"How about some music?" Donnie asked in an uncharacteristically rough voice, shooting him an intense look. Yeah, Donnie was pissed at him.

Leo nodded and flicked on the radio. A love song started to play, something about forbidden longing, and yearning. Donatello and Leonardo's hand shot out at the same time to hit the button to change channels. Both their fingers mashed the button, hard. They exchanged uneasy glances and then started to laugh. The tension evaporated and Leo braced the side of his temple against his knuckles, elbow against the edge of the door. Donatello chuckled, sounding relieved and more like his usual happy self. He tapped his fingers along the top of the steering wheel in time with the upbeat pop song now playing.

"Glad that's over," Donnie said and Leo couldn't agree more. Though to what part exactly he was referring, Leo wasn't sure. Either way, it didn't matter. He'd never see that woman again, and frankly, was relieved.

"Yeah," Leo responded and peered out into the darkness. Distantly the sound of an ambulance siren fired through the night and a sense of deeper relief flooded through him. He sighed and only then relaxed into the seat; partially listening to Don explain how he would store the blood for later use; his mind preoccupied as the vision of her dark green eyes danced along the edges of his consciousness.

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**A/N: You knew it was going to happen sooner or later. I love this pairing.**


	2. Secret Seas

She heard the rattling, paused with head cocked, listening; body held stiff and rigid. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Something was making that noise. Something buried in the snow up ahead. But what, exactly?

She moved again. Through the skeletal trees, her boots stepped lightly and soundlessly. In her hand, she realized with a start, was a tanto. The silver blade glinted in the twilight light, diming to deeper greys the further she stepped into the woods. Her breath puffed in mini clouds but her body was not cold. In fact, she felt quite warm, almost uncomfortably so.

The rattling sound came again and it sent a thrill of fear through her. She paused, dark green eyes sweeping the interior darkness of the trees and spiny branches of bare bushes. This feeling of fear was alien and unwelcome to her. She was Oroku Karai. She feared little to nothing. She'd been trained since a child to dispose of useless emotions such as fear; hope; love. And only one man in all the world could spurn that delicate panic, that icy flush within her and he was not here. Her father was on the opposite side of the world. Wasn't he? She frowned. Wait. The darkness seeped around her as she turned in a slow circle. Where was she? What was she doing out here? Uneasiness swept through her. The noise skittered around her, focusing her again. It was the sound of brittle survival, of last breaths rationed and sipped, of life being held onto stubbornly to the end.

She moved forward, swiftly now, squaring her shoulders and bristling with defiance. She would not be cowed by a sound. She would not wither in the face of a phantom. The trees cleared the deeper she went and she found herself stopping at the mouth of a clearing. A small glen. In the center lay a form. Strange and misshapen. Yet familiar. Almost human. But not quite.

With some trepidation, she crept closer. Just as she suspected. An animal, its bloodied, shattered leg snagged in an overly large bear trap-like contraption; the device looked disjointed and odd, too large. Almost like a caricature of a trap. The surrounding snow was peppered in blots of crimson, streaks of red and rust. The rattling sound came again as the animal turned. No. Not an animal. Karai's rattling breath drew in. A pair of storm-blue eyes, wide with curiosity and something like awe, but not fear or pain as she'd have guessed, met hers.

"You're hurt," he said in a rough voice, but somehow not unpleasant.

Her heart leaped. The blade dropped into the snow, disappearing without a sound.

Karai's eyes snapped open as she gasped. Her fists gripped handfuls of bedding, reaching, for something . . . the tanto? No, his hand. She tried to get up. She couldn't move. Something pressed her back. Panic galloped through her and she struggled weakly before realizing that it was blankets and nothing more keeping her in place. But there was a weight on her chest and something was pressing on her face. Her gaze inched to one side and tentacles hung in the space between the air and the rest of the room. It took a second to process that it was nothing but tubing connected from a ventilation machine and an IV stand to her battered body. The gentle rhythmic beeping of the medical equipment surrounding her brought reality firm and unrelenting into focus. The rattling sound filled the room. She could have laughed if she had the strength. Her breath. Her breathing.

She tried to raise her head and felt a streak of pain; a band tightening across her chest and abdomen. She winced and laid her head back. The pressure in her chest increased. Her lungs ached and burned.

Her fingers eased from their clenched hold as she forced herself to calm down, to remember her training, her years of practiced meditation. Her father insisted on meditating upon the symbol of their clan, but she never found peace within the three-pronged sigil. Only a vague resentment that she kept buried and hidden. Instead, she pictured the secret scene that she so often did when she was hurting from a hard span of training or sparring, or just having trouble escaping from the ugly reality she found herself encased within: the expanse of rice fields just beyond the fenced-in yard with the large cherry tree in full blossom; her bare feet upon the clean, smooth surface of the wooden porch; the breeze with the teasing hint of salt from the sea just over the ridge of mountains reaching her; soothing her. She was no one here. Only the breath within her, the breeze without. A woman unknown. With no history whether innocent or violent. Nothing. No one. Free.

Calmer now, better now, she took in a long slow breath and noticed how her chest ached. She frowned. Pneumonia? Perhaps. She noted that her body was in places numb and in others too sensitive, as though nerve endings were awake in some areas and sleeping in others. Wincing, she tried to raise her head again, only to have the same pain cut through her. She rolled her eyes in aggravation. This was getting old, quick.

She reached up and pulled the breathing mask from her face, stretching the elastic to yank it up and over her face with a grunt. Her body protested the movements but she needed the wretched thing off her face, _now_. She tossed it to one side of her body and worked her jaw. Better. Though those simple movements made her feel weary and she fought the edges of sleep pulling at her senses.

She had to remember. The dream she had before waking taunted along the horizon of her contemplation. That strange animal. No, those eyes. He was human? No, that wasn't right either.

She stiffened as the memories invaded her mind. Chunks of visions roiled in her head and slammed into the shoreline of her consciousness. The vigilantes. The hostages. The creatures like men, but not; sad eyes, intelligent and sorrowful looking back at her as she paced in front of them, trapped in the large tubes. What were they? She found herself gazing at them each in turn, unable to stop herself. The one in the middle in particular. Something in his countenance. Something regal and imposing. And yet, strangely gentle. They looked like yokai, she'd decided. Almost like Kappa from her story books. But those were fairy tales. Myths.

She recalled Sacks coming into the lab then and she stepped away; hardening herself and cutting herself off from her natural tendency of being too curious. Too adventurous for her own good. Something her father did his best to discourage in her, any way he could since she could remember. She was to listen. To obey. She was not to question. She was to only serve and please her master; her sensei; father.

Karai's eyes wandered the ceiling, tracing along the cracks above while her thoughts traced the cracks within. The next memory brought the aftertaste of regret, which she immediately denied, shoving away the feeling with force.

The man that she'd given the poison to. The quivering idiot. She didn't know him. He was nothing. No one. Like the other drones in the Foot Clan. Inconsequential. His death was one of many at her hands over the years. And yet, as she pulled away from his writhing body and caught their looks, his expression, the one in the middle, searing into her with something like disgust and disapproval, a twinge of something in the pit of her stomach. No one made her feel shame. No one but her father. No one else would even dare. In that moment she wished to strike the mutant. To spit in his face for that look. But she restrained herself. What did it matter? Her reaction was ridiculous. They were going to be disposed of regardless. Let him have his disapproval.

Karai balled her fists. Useless. These emotions. Nothing but obstacles in the way of doing what she was trained to do. To serve. To obey. Her heart pounded. Still. She could not let it go. How dare he look at her like that? The memory was enough to rankle her and she started to cough. But stubbornly, she would not replace the mask. She glared at it as though it held the culpability of all her suffering. Her eyes burned and her chest felt as though it were collapsing inwards. Finally, she took hold of it, placed it over her nose and mouth and gasped. Only after the pain eased and she could breathe again did she dropped it away. She'd been accused of many things in her life by her masters, her father, but a fool was not one of them.

Her eyes drifted closed and when she opened them again, she realized that she had drifted into a dreamless sleep. The rattling remained. She tried again to recall what had happened to her. When the hummer rolled on top of her and her leg snapped like a dried branch, when the pain lanced through her as though she'd been speared from the back of her neck through her groin, she thought, in that instant, that her time had come. She'd fallen unconscious, she knew. Was sure of it. Because when she opened her eyes again it was to new agony. She'd shouted for assistance, thinking that there were still soldiers about. She tried to free herself and only made the vehicle shift, causing her to become more tangled in the straps, more pain that blotted out her consciousness for another stretch of unknown time.

When she awoke again, she was exhausted and numb. Cold. She could not stop shivering. The stillness frightened her. Anger filled her. She tried shouting again, but found her voice soft and hoarse; ineffectual. She dug her fingers into the seats, laying vertical as the vehicle had tipped on its side, trying to drag herself upright. More pain jolted through her. Bright and sharp. Electric and cruel. She bit back her cry of pain, knowing it was useless. And oddly, thought of firing on the mutant with the electrical harpoon.

The glee that she'd felt in that moment, caught up in the wild chase down the mountain, so sure of her victory. The knowledge of making her father _proud_ speeding her forward. She would not fail him. She would not.

And the chase was so sweet! The exhilaration as adrenaline surged through her system. This was living. This was the part of her life she actually enjoyed. When set free to race and hunt under the illusion that it was all real, that she could run and run and run and never look back; before the leash snagged, the collar yanked at her throat, and she was reeled back once more to her pen; caged and bored, but mostly, with the dull, distant ache of loneliness to keep her company.

Despite the deep loathing of the life she'd led up to this point, she was not about to give up. She could not. After the years of obedience and sacrifice. To be crushed behind the rolling vehicle, trapped and left to rot in the forest like so much road-kill. No. It could not end this way. It could not. She gritted her teeth and tried again to free herself.

But as in the life she led, there was nothing more she could do; thrash and groan and grind her teeth as much as she wanted, she was trapped. At the mercy of things beyond her control. If she knew how, she would have cried. If she remembered, she would have thought of her mother. Lost to the years and the consistent demands of obedience and denial of all things tied to emotions. All things soft and weak, tender and free.

And finally she cried out, eyes dry, heart empty; the sound an animal noise of desperation, frustration and helplessness. She hated that sound, hated herself for making such a pathetic whimper, but could not help it as she tried again and again, until she fell back, panting and shivering.

And the vehicle suddenly pitched and shifted. She tensed, thinking it had somehow gotten loose from where it had lodged and was now drifting into a slow slide down the rest of the mountainside. Her heart jumped into her throat as the metallic groaning roared like a beast through the stillness and the door suddenly was thrown back. The shattering glass like a flock of brittle wings scattering through the parchment sky.

A dark form filled the space and blue eyes peered down at her. She blinked and realized that she was hallucinating or dead and this was a demon come to collect her soul. She stared into those startling eyes, shoring up her defiance and stubborn will. Thinking all the time, _what are you waiting for, demon?_

"You're hurt," he said gruffly.

And through the pain and dehydration, through the haze of her muddled mind, she knew then who it was, and accepted that her time, had in fact, come. But he had not come to finish her off. He'd helped her. Where there was no one else. No soldiers, no clan members, no one seeking her out, only this mutant with the eyes like storming seas. In her delirium, she thought she smelled the briny scent of ocean waves, the fluttering sound of cherry blossoms sprinkling a jade green lawn. Children's laughter. She'd been utterly out of her mind, Karai decided and shifted uncomfortably in her bed.

The door opened and a doctor swept inside, followed by several nurses who immediately replaced the mask over her face despite her scowling up at them. The doctor checked the machines and made a few notes on a tablet. Karai tried to speak, only croaked and lifted the mask with one trembling hand.

"Where is . . . my father?"

The doctor gave her a bland glance and then swept his fingers across the screen of his tablet. "He will be here presently."

Karai could not help but smile as relief bubbled through her. The loneliness that she'd not even realized she'd been feeling was swept away like so many clinging cobwebs upon her heart. He was coming here. To see her. To make sure his daughter was okay. Her eyelids fluttered.

When they opened again the room was empty aside from a nurse adjusting the blinds of the private room's window. A spike of worry that she'd missed her father's arrival lanced her. But her fear dissipated instantly as the door opened again and he entered. Karai tried to sit up. The nurse turned towards the door and then hastily turned again and hurried to assist with arranging the mattress to rise up to allow her to see her father with some dignity. The nurse backed off and fled from the room like a mouse scurrying away from a particularly hungry-looking feline.

Again the smile, weak but genuine spread across Karai's face before she could hide it. Pride in her father welled up in her. Pride in the respect he commanded, the fear he instilled. Happiness that he'd come to see her, despite the fact that he'd taught her to value only cunning and would have punished her for being so weak as to be 'happy' to see him.

"Father," she said meekly as the imposing figure strode up to the bedside.

Dark eyes flickered over her and then rested at her face. His countenance darkened and her smile evaporated.

"Karai."

He glanced at the machines and seemed to hold them in contempt. Karai shifted, feeling the familiar emptying out of her emotions beneath the suffocating presence of his disapproval. The tingling beginnings of fear; the dragging sense of dread in her acid-filled stomach.

He looked down at her once more. "How did you manage to survive?"

The question took her aback. He sounded surprised and not the least bit impressed. He sounded suspicious.

She ran a cotton-coated tongue over dry lips. His eyes rose up in her mind. His large hand reaching. His tender voice speaking so politely to her that it turned her stomach. Who spoke to an enemy like that? Then his arms under her, lifting her, the joy that rushed through her, the giddy happiness that someone had come. Someone was saving her. Even if it was him. A smaller voice, a shameful, guilty voice whispered, _my hero_. Immediately she began coughing.

The Shredder folded his arms and stared at her impatiently. "Well?"

"I . . . _coff coff_ . . . I do not . . . _coff_ . . . remember, father," she sputtered under the mask and grimaced at the pain.

A tick in his jaw. A darkening of his features. "Karai," he said, voice dripping in menace. "Several men were found killed when the ambulance picked you up."

Karai blinked at him. This was news to her. She was unconscious when the ambulance found her. In the compound. The mutant had brought her and had . . . called an ambulance? She blinked rapidly before smoothing her face into a neutral mask; her father eying her with distrust.

"How did you arrive back at the compound? Who called the ambulance?"

She shook her head, heart pounding, all the while feeling overwhelmed and confused. Why? Why did he not just leave me? What was he playing at? Her fingers tugged at the blankets nervously.

The Shredder looked at the foot of her bed. He moved and retrieved something. He held up a patched blanket. Held it out to her like an accusation.

"And this?"

"I d-don't know . . . Father, I-I do not remember."

He watched her face carefully and slung the blanket over her mid-section with a soft grunt. She caught the words he mumbled as he turned away from her and the pain in her chest had nothing to do with the pneumonia.

_"Useless. Always."_

She closed her eyes as her father left the room without another word, without a glance back.

"Goodbye, Father," she whispered and wished for unconsciousness to claim her once again. Instead she lay there; deprived, hollow and hurting, inside and out; long into the lonely hours of the early morning.

When sleep finally stole her away, she dreamt of rice fields swaying to an ocean breeze and cherry blossoms falling over her head. And someone gazing at her with eyes like the stormy seas.


	3. Fantasy Meets Reality

**Chapter 3 - Fantasy Meets Reality**

He lingered in the narrow gangway watching unseen as the shop keepers pulled metal gates over their windows, bolted doors and hurried to catch cabs; others heading towards the subway station a few blocks away; chatting with co-workers or dashing off in muted distraction. All pulling collars and hoods up to guard against the misting rain. Constant and persistent as a whispered confession. Heavy enough to stain clothing, but not enough to require umbrellas.

Leonardo remained, partially protected from the rain by a brightly colored overhang connected to the eave above the side delivery door of the flower shop. Doing his best to keep his mind blank. It wasn't easy. The voice of his father continued to creep between the cracks of his concentration; chastising him; furious and confused. What would Splinter think to know that he'd not only lied about his whereabouts this evening, but also that he intended to see her again? Well, try to, at least.

And more than that, he thought, as he eyed the delivery door to the florist shop he stood just beside. He tired of simply watching her from a distance, tonight he would leave a token of his admiration. Leonardo ducked his head. Oh, if his father found out. It wouldn't be pretty.

As much as he desired the blessing and approval of his sensei in all his endeavors, this was something he couldn't bring to his father's attention. He wouldn't understand. He couldn't. Besides, there was nothing for his father to know or to concern himself with. Leonardo had everything under control. They'd risked getting closer to humans than he'd planned on tonight before. Much closer, actually.

_True, but those times were due to necessity, and what is this? _the voice of his father chided.

Leonardo brushed the doubt away. This was nothing he couldn't manage with the barest exercise of stealth. In and out. Fade back into the shadows. Easy. He just had to see her again. Even a mere glimpse would be enough. It had been enough to sustain him these past few weeks.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lurking upon the tallest spire of St. Augustine's church across from the private wing of the hospital by the same name, he'd just been able to peer into the window between the open blinds to see her lying in bed, pale and weak; fragile in her infirmity; and more lovely than he'd remembered.

He'd watch as she was visited and questioned by the police. The hard lines her face took on when challenged and the exhaustion she submitted to when her room was empty. No family that he could tell visited. At least of the times he'd watched over her. She was almost always alone. No flowers or get well cards littered the surface of the room's tables. Not like the rooms above and below hers; where balloons and bouquets of every shape and size cluttered around the patients. Hers remained empty of anything that might suggest affection or caring.

The more he visited the more he gained a sense of isolation and loneliness that seemed to pervade her. Observing her in secret inspired within him a rush of emotions and strongest among these was the need to offer her some comfort. He wanted to do something more for her than just admire her from a distance. Though he'd never admit it aloud, the private wing of the hospital that she recuperated within, with its gloomy architecture reminded him a little of a prison tower; the doctors and nurses were the guardsmen and Karai was the princess confined within. Alone and forgotten by all but him.

And his heart sped a little faster.

It was only by chance that Leonardo crossed paths again with the mysterious woman that inspired such a tangle of new emotions within him. Since rescuing her from the wreckage of the vehicle, six weeks before, he'd banished her from his conscious thoughts. Or had tried to.

There were more pressing issues to preoccupy Leonardo's days with; they'd sought out and found a new place to set up as their home; there was the steady work of relocating all their possessions, of helping Donatello and Raphael establish electricity and plumbing; as well as the adjustment to having someone outside their small inner circle becoming part of the family. April was warm, intelligent and helpful. And she seemed particularly fond of his brother, Raphael. Something he wasn't sure about how to deal with. Deciding to allow his father to take the lead on that and simply follow along with his sensei's decisions.

He'd been looking for Donatello to ask about finishing wiring on their outer door's security locks to the new lair, when distracted by a fleeting news reel running along the bottom of one of Donatello's screens. And something within him leapt up from where it had lain, biding its time, stalking along the very edges of his dreams. His eyes had scanned the information as his breath froze in his chest and his heart suddenly sped up.

Ms. Karai Oroku, a spokesperson for and one of the heads of security for Sacks Industries N.Y., who had possible ties to the organized crime syndicate, the Foot Clan, was recovering from undisclosed injuries at St. Augustine's Hospital. She was in good condition and being questioned by police regarding the Sacks tower collapse, as well as the reported incidents of criminal activity at the private estate north of the city where the ambulance had picked her up. There'd been a mention of the private wing of the hospital. Leonardo had rushed from the room, only pausing to tell Michelangelo that he'd be back later, and not to worry.

xxxxxxxxx

The sound of someone approaching from within the shop and the metal handle of the door turning interrupted his thoughts. He tensed. He eased back; blending into the lengthening shadows between dumpsters as the door swung open and an older woman hauled the day's spent blooms into the nearest bin. Over the scent of sour beer and exhaust fumes in the alley, Leonardo's sensitive nose picked out the layered notes of carnations, lilies, and - he stiffened - what he'd been hoping for the most: roses.

The door to the shop snapped shut and he moved swiftly to open the bin. His heart jumped. There on the top over the pile of crushed tissue paper, receipts, broken stems and flowers lay several roses in different shades. Picking out the least crushed and damaged, he laid the red bloom carefully onto a light towel, rolling it gently and slipping it into one empty sheath on his back. Giddy with his prize, he dashed through the puddles and jumped to catch hold of the bottom run of the nearest fire escape.

Within the hour, he was plotting his way down the decorative architecture of the private wing to St. Augustine. Upside down, rose stem clenched between his teeth, he worked his way lower, meaning to drop it on the outer sill for her to possibly see the next time she looked out the window. And perhaps feel not so alone. Not so forgotten. Maybe she might even consider it was from him, though he knew, logically, there was no way of that really happening.

He made it to the decorative molding adorning the top of her private room's window and peered inside. He nearly lost his grip to see her standing there directly beyond the window pane, gazing out into the night sky. Her shocked expression was the last thing he saw as he spun and clambered back up the side of the building. Cursing from between his teeth as he climbed; eyes wide.

On the roof, he spat out the rose and raced between the large HVAC units, his feet crushing against the gravel strewn surface. He'd just managed to duck behind one as the roof access door slammed open. He peered around the unit and snapped his eyes closed, cursing again under his breath in Japanese.

The dark hair and slight figure were unmistakable. She moved with the grace of someone well trained as a dancer or in martial arts. Her footsteps were so light upon the surface, that they barely made any sound at all. Her face cast about and Leonardo held his breath as she spotted the abandoned rose and stiffened.

She pulled the long coat tightly to her chest as she stooped to retrieve the bruised bloom; twisting and searching the roof for any sight of him. She stared at the rose and held it to her nose before dropping it away and calling out, "There's no use hiding. I know you're here."

Leonardo crouched, frozen with indecision; part of his mind screamed for him to disappear, the other wanted to see what would come next. Riveted to the spot, the closest he'd come to her since that day in the forest.

She held out the rose, "And this? What sort of enemy rescues his adversary and then delivers gifts at their window?"

"One who sees no true cause for hostility between us," he called out softly before he could stop himself.

Karai's head snapped around towards the sound of his voice, but remained where she was. Leonardo tensed. This was reckless, he thought. Stupid. Dangerous. His pulse strummed as his heart pounded.

"Show yourself," she replied, equally as soft.

In a moment of boldness, he straightened up and emerged from where he'd hidden himself. The misting rain glistened off his shoulders, making his skin shiver and gleam. And as in the vehicle, when he first met her, she remained blank-faced. Her eyes watchful and deep as she studied him. He felt exposed and at the same time welcomed her appraisal. And he wished he knew what she was thinking.

Her cough broke the tension of the moment. He advanced before thinking, only stopping when he was a few feet in front of her; pulling his hand back from where he'd reached out.

"You shouldn't be out here in the rain."

"You should not be so foolish as to present yourself to an enemy."

"I don't think of you as such."

Karai blinked and something flickered across her calm exterior. Surprise. But it was quickly smoothed back to a more neutral expression, twisting into something like a smirk.

"Then you _are_ a fool."

He replied quickly, "Am I?" She blinked at him, coughing into one loose fist. He noticed she had not let go of the rose in her other hand and he felt a surge of happiness for the fact.

Her smirk twisted into a snarl. "I could have men take you," she snapped her fingers, "like that."

He advanced on her, looming over her; eyes icy and hard. "You are alone."

Instantly she dropped and swept her leg around, attempting to trip him. He leaped up and back, bracing his legs wide and bringing up his fists in a fighting stance. Her heel swung at him. He blocked and threw it aside. Her fist came up followed by her elbow. She spun and hooked her foot around, missing his face and sending her slipper hurtling through the air. All of this he easily blocked, shifting back and back again through the soaking gravel.

"Why do you attack me?" he asked as he ducked another round house.

She spun with the advance of another kick. Sweeping through nothing but air. As she landed, it was with less grace than a moment before and she stumbled to one side. He lurched forward and caught her elbow. She punched with her opposite fist. His head jerked from the impact and he blinked down at her with a low growl.

"Because I defeat my enemies! Human or mutant _freak!"_ she spat the last word at him.

He started as her words stung him. Unable to hide the hurt as it flashed across his face.

Wasting no time, she braced her feet and using his thigh and chest as leverage, ran up the length of him, twisting out of his hold and snapping his chin back as her foot cracked it. She flipped backwards and landed sloppily, falling back into the gravel; panting and perspiring; her coat open to reveal the thin cotton gown and bare legs. She started coughing violently. Her head flung back as she tried to catch her breath. Chest heaving.

Despite his bruised feelings, Leonardo's eyes devoured the sight, unable to fight the natural urge to take in her beauty. The hollows of her throat slick and gleaming with sweat and rain; the curves the material of her gown clung to; the smooth lines of her toned legs; the muscles of her thighs where the gown had ridden up nearly to her hip.

He swept his heated gaze away, unwilling to torture himself further, feeling ashamed for indulging his passionate feelings for even those brief seconds. When he looked back, she was still out of breath, but sitting upright, tinted hair sticking to her cheeks and forehead, staring at him. A strange expression on her face.

"Why did you rescue me?" she asked between soft gasps. She turned and reached out to gather the battered rose from the place she'd dropped it earlier before attacking him. She held it up and cocked her head. "And why did you bring me this?"

Her tone was only curious, but he couldn't help but detect a note of incredulity to it. He swallowed. Why did he? With a rush, reality crashed down upon him. She saw him only at best as an adversary to be taken down, at worst, a mutant freak to have disposed. He felt ridiculous and exposed. Vulnerable and irresponsible. She was right. He was a fool. He shouldn't have come here. What the hell had he been thinking? Allowing himself to fall into a fantasy, and for what reason? He frowned.

"It was a mistake," he replied and turned away. Fighting the urge to flee from her. To race away from his disgrace and humiliation.

Her hand was on his arm before he even heard the motion of her rising. He twisted out of her reach, expecting another attack and feeling angry and strangely hurt but not wanting to fight with a sickly woman. Though her attack showed solid form, it had been weak. More dishonor upon his actions.

He stared at her and her eyes held a defiant gleam, challenging him despite her obviously worsening condition. Her face was pale and drawn. She was in pain, but trying to conceal it from him. She was stubborn, he'd give her that. He took another step back, hands up in surrender. He only wished to leave.

"I want to know your name."

He blinked at her, then moved to go.

"Wait."

He paused.

"Answer me," she commanded, though her voice wavered at the end.

He huffed and climbed onto the concrete parapet.

She hurried to follow. "I-I wish to know the name of the . . . man who . . ." she trailed off, seeming to lose the thread of what she'd meant to say to him.

He twisted and regarded her with an icy stare; feeling still hurt and yet compelled to answer. "I'm not a man. I'm a mutant. A ninja," he clarified in a clipped tone.

"Then when I am stronger, I will want to test your skill," she announced giving him pause.

He frowned and gaped at her a little, "Wh-What?"

She pulled her coat about her and smiled up at him. It was the first time he'd seen her smile and it did things to him. His eyes fell to the rose clutched in her fist. Her gaze followed his then bounced back to him.

"Spar with me," she offered, "sometime." She rattled off an address. "Soon."

He realized she'd just given him her home address and as that sunk in, he immediately thought, _it has to be a trap. _ Mutely, he could only stand there, on the edge of the roof, blinking down at her in the misting rain.

She started to cough again and took a step back. Then another.

"Leonardo," he said and she stopped. "My name is Leonardo."

She bowed then and straightened, a smile tugging at her lips. That he pleased her should not have made his heart stumble. The back of his neck heated. "I am Karai."

"I know who you are," he said softly.

"You are mistaken," she corrected with a hard glint in her eye.

And before he could question her further, or even contemplate the meaning of her response, the door to the roof slammed open and a nurse hurried out into the open. He leapt from the edge, but not before he heard the nurse exclaim, "Miss Oroku! I can't believe you! Out on the roof, in this rain?! What would your father think!? Do you have a death wish?!"

Karai gazed over her shoulder to where Leonardo had just a moment before stood, outlined in a sharp contrast of stoic majesty and fragile vulnerability, as the nurse flung a blanket over her shoulders

"Perhaps that is the case," she murmured but went unheard over the nurse's chastisement and further exclamations of her father's potential fury.


	4. Bad Mojo

**Chapter 4 - Bad Mojo**

* * *

He ran the length of the tunnel, heels chased by an uncharacteristic giddiness, until the brick walls gave way to rusted metal pipe. Leaping over the break where the water churned and rolled in a whirlpool fifteen feet below, he landed without a pause in his stride. His arms pumped and his legs moved onwards of their own accord, following the well-memorized path back to the new lair from one of many exits that he and Donatello had scouted once they'd moved in. His body ran on auto-pilot as his mind lingered in sweet repose, locked on the earlier scene with his lady-fair. Going over the vision of the sublime curve of her calf as she threw her kicks, but more heatedly on the gleam of interest in her eyes as he stepped into the light, allowing her to take him in, exposed and open to her scrutiny. _I think she approved,_ he thought with a smirk. Leonardo chuckled as he turned the sharp corner and moved west towards the abandoned pumping station.

"Then when I am stronger, I will want to test your skill," he mouthed Karai's words and felt the delightful tingle rush over him, starting in the lower segments of his tail and spreading rapidly through his shell and over his flesh. He shuddered and ducked to reach through fallen pipes to grasp the rusted metal handwheel. Any earlier trepidation over seeing her again melted away with his youthful self-assurance that there was nothing that she could do to cause him any trouble. The handwheel squealed as he turned it; his bicep bunched with the effort. He yanked it forward with a soft grunt to reveal a number plate; he punched in the code and immediately the hidden gears groaned all around him and the hatch opened to his right.

He was immediately hit by a jangling, upbeat wave of blaring music. Wincing from the loudness, he slipped through the door and closed it firmly behind him. He stood with his mouth hanging open as he took in the scene.

Michelangelo was in one corner, sunglasses over his eyes, working the turn-table that Donatello had built him years ago for a Christmas present. His face was split into a huge grin as he pressed a pair of headphones to the side of his face and scratched a record back and forth, setting Leo's teeth on edge. On either side of the living room, party globes spun, casting a multitude of colors spinning across the walls, ceiling and floor. The couch and floor cushions were shoved aside near the wall, making a large space in the center. Half-empty bowls of popcorn and chips covered the low coffee table near the television. He frowned at the sight of beer bottles nestled between the snacks and stashed beneath the table. But most surprisingly was Raphael – in the center of it all – dancing his shell off to the ecstatic delight of April, who sat upright on her knees, with her back to him, clapping in time with the bass.

_What the hell?_

Leonardo crept along the perimeter, one arm trailing along the wall as if he were loath to venture further into the madcap scene before him any deeper than he absolutely had to. His eyes searched the room for any sign of either his father or Donatello. Which was preposterous, because there was no way, aside from New Year's Eve parties and Fourth of July, that he allowed his sons this level of revelry. Leonardo froze for a moment, realizing his error. If Splinter had left the lair, then there was no way he could hide the fact that he wasn't home when Splinter left. He'd need an excuse. A good one.

That unpleasant thought swirled in his mind as he made it to the doorway to the kitchen and ducked inside. Over the sound of the music, he thought he heard Mikey's voice calling out in greeting, but he chose instead to find Donatello and ask him about Splinter. As he hurried across the room, he noted the mess and scowled. Bags of chips and chili-popcorn spilled their remnants all over the table and floor. The sink was full of unwashed dishes and more empty bottles of beer lined the counter next to the sink. He moved out of the kitchen back down the passageway to Donatello's lab, feeling more put out by the second. The music thumped along the walls but it grew dimmer as he came up upon Donatello's door. He frowned at the sign posted eye-level which read:

'Do Not Enter Under Penalty of Death'.

With a huff, he pushed his way inside his younger brother's sanctuary.

He was met with a shout of irritation as Donatello wheeled around from the work-table, welding mask covering his face. "I said not to bother me! Go back to your -" he started and twisted the torch off and flipped up his mask. "Oh! Uh, oh, Leo, what are you doing home?" He shifted his feet and looked nervously behind him and then adjusted where he stood to shelter what he'd been working on from Leonardo's view, all while smiling encouragingly and failing miserably to act natural. His hands worked along the edge of the table, fidgeting and restless.

"What do you mean? I told Raphael I'd be gone an hour, at the very most," he said and stalked into the room, ignoring Donatello's immediate twisting to cover the amalgam of metal parts laid out across the surface of the table and something that looked suspiciously like an assault rifle. He pulled a heavy tarp over the bulk of it which Leo instantly took one edge of and peeked beneath. "What's this?" He cocked his brow at Donatello just as his brother's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"It was going to be a surprise."

Leonardo covered it again. He eyed Donatello and glanced at the lump hidden by the tarp. He spoke slowly, "I really don't think Raphael needs a rocket launcher."

Donatello huffed in irritation. "It's not a rocket launcher, Leo. Why would I build a rocket launcher when we have sufficient fire power equipped on the van?"

Leo ran a hand over his face. "Master Splinter said no weaponry within the confines of our living space."

Donatello's frustration gave way to a sheepish look. "It's not. My lab doesn't count as communal living space."

Leonardo stared at him. "Don, you sleep in here more nights than not. And if it's not a rocket launcher, then what is it?"

Donatello shrugged and his face looked guiltier than ever. "Don't get mad."

Leonardo listened intently, his features hardening.

"I said don't get mad!"

"Donatello," Leo started in a warning tone.

"Okay, So. I-I, uh, sort of borrowed some of the weapons I _accidentally_ stumbled upon at Sack's compound when we went back to collect and destroy any remaining containers of our blood."

Leo blinked. "What?" he breathed with incredulity.

Donatello started talking animatedly as he moved from the table to a stack of small long crates that only now Leonardo noticed.

"How could I resist? I mean the technology here is incredible. I'm sure you've read stories about guns propelling sabots through magnetic fields, but there hasn't been too much actual progress. Well, if you consider the rail guns currently being tested by the navy, that's actually more along the lines of what I've found here, only these babies," he said as he pried one lid from the topmost crate, "these are closer to Gauss Guns." He twisted to look at his brother. "I'm sure you've read about them." His face dropped at the look Leonardo was giving him. "Er, maybe not. They're often featured in science fiction books." He cleared his throat and carefully replaced the lid. "But what I found most fascinating is the sound fields these create, even at low settings."

His shell was to Leonardo as he stroked the top of the crate. He spoke more to himself than Leonardo, as he often did when thinking aloud. "My theory is that they're a prototype of some sort of electromagnetic or possibly extreme focused wave particulate firing . . . no, most likely sound waves –I'm going to have to find a field to test it. Away from the city, of course."

"Donatello, of all the foolhardy things you've done . . ."

Don straightened as he twisted to face Leonardo. He pulled the welding helmet of the top of his head. He threw it to the table where it clattered and rolled and fell to the floor.

"Foolhardy," he hissed, insulted. "I'll have you know that if it wasn't for my," he shook his head from side to side with his fists at his hips, mocking Leonardo's voice, "_foolhardy_ experiments and inventions that I spend most of my waking hours working on and near all of my sleeping hours, as if you didn't already know, only to make our subterranean dwellings as comfortable and tolerable as possible, we'd be turtle-sicles with the first hard frost."

Leonardo did not back down, "Think! There could be tracking mechanisms on these."

Donatello bristled but then relaxed. He crossed his arms with slow ease and leaned back until his bottom met the desk's edge. He eyed Leonardo with an air of condescension. "Please. I checked," he replied slowly and firmly. He dropped his head and chuckled. "What kind of amateur do you take me for, brother?"

Leonardo huffed and shook his head. "Fine," he conceded.

But Donatello was not about to let this chastisement and unfair accusation of neglect go unchallenged. "And you're no one to talk when it comes to doing something foolhardy."

Leonardo went completely still. His immediate thought was, '_He knows!_' followed by '_Don't be stupid, there's no way_,' then, '_oh crap'_; all while maintaining an utterly neutral expression.

"Who was the one that went out into the woods only to return with a Foot soldier," Donatello adjusted his glasses and raised his finger, pointing it up to the ceiling, "and not just any Foot Soldier, mind you, one of their captains. The very same woman who nearly killed you out on the battle field."

Leonardo's jaw jumped. "That doesn't matter."

Donatello frowned at this unexpected reply. "It doesn't matter that she almost killed you?" He glanced around from the floor to the walls back to his brother as if looking for an explanation to this preposterous response.

He straightened up as Leonardo stormed from the room without another word. He followed close behind and nearly slammed into his brother's shell as Leo came to an abrupt stop. He twisted around and Don jumped back. Watching him suspiciously.

"Where is Master Splinter? That's why I came back here in the first place. What the heck is going on?" He pointed towards the source of the thumping music.

Donatello eyed him and answered, "Splinter told us he was going to be gone for a few hours, most likely the entire night. One of his meditation walks, as far as our younger siblings," he paused and looked over Leonardo's shoulder then met his eyes once more. He shrugged. "When the rat's away . . ."

Leonardo sighed. So, he missed Splinter telling them he was going out. He'd need to think of something to tell his father.

Leo turned but Don knocked one knuckle against his shell, making him look over his shoulder. "So, uh, where were you all evening?"

But to his sibling, he felt he owed no such explanations. "Out."

He stormed down the passageway. Donatello watched him go, pressing his mouth into a line, going over the conversation in his mind and cataloging his brother's behavior when he brought up the soldier's rescue. The change in his demeanor and the way he tried to mask his emotions by giving him that blank look which worked so well with Mikey and Raph, but Donatello could see through almost as well as Master Splinter ever could. It was a low thing to do, in all honesty, bringing up that event. His brother was merely playing the hero. And they had settled that situation weeks ago on the ride home.

He chewed the inside of his cheek as he moved slowly after his brother. Leo playing hero. It wasn't unlike him. When they were children he always chose to be the knight that rescued princess Mikey from the Raph-ogre or the Raph-dragon. He'd always chosen to be the wise wizard instructing the knight on how to go about dispatching the gruesome beast in the most effective and horrible manner. The beginning of a smile at the fond memory faded, replaced with a grim shadow.

They were no longer children. And innocent games were a thing of the past. If his guess was correct -and he really hoped, perhaps for the first time in his life, that he was wrong - Leo could be in the middle of a very dangerous game. With the one cast in the role of damsel in distress happening to be a commander or captain or some type of higher officer in their clan's enemy forces. He wouldn't put it past Leonardo to be so naïve. Out of all of them, Donatello frankly felt his older sibling to be far too innocent in some respects to the nature of reality.

He heard Leo's angry voice tell Michelangelo the party was over and to get busy cleaning the kitchen. The music cut off and the silence left a ringing in his ears. He moved through the kitchen and peered through the plastic strips into the living room.

Mikey was grumbling and packing up his records and Leo was standing rigidly in the center of the room, looking towards the exit. Donatello's eyes followed his glare and he held his breath. April was kissing Raphael goodnight. And not in a peck on the cheek. His eyes darted from the two entangled in the heated embrace to Leo and wondered how long he'd just stand there and watch. He expected Leo to clear his throat or shout or order Raph to finish kissing April and sweep the floor, but instead, no instead, Donatello frowned. He stepped back, chewing more upon the tender inner cheek as his mind raced. Leonardo had dropped his head and with a saddened expression had hurried from the scene to his room.

"What are you getting yourself into, Leo?" Donatello wondered aloud just as Mikey burst through the plastic.

"He's being a party pooper as usual, bro," Mikey answered him with a grunt. He started grabbing empty bags off the counter and table and shoved them into the waste bin. "Peh, I thought he was going out all night with Splinter."

Donatello blinked. "Is that what Raph told you?"

"Uh," Mikey rolled his blood-shot eyes up, thinking hard before dropping them. "I can't remember. It's been a long night."

"You better hope Master Splinter doesn't find out you were drinking."

Mikey laughed and brushed his hand through the air. "Nah, it's fine."

"You won't be saying that in the hashi."

Mikey leveled a look at him. "Bro, I can last longer than any of you chumps in the hashi on any day, with no sleep and my hands tied behind my shell."

Donatello shook his head in disgust, then he peeked back into the living room, only to duck into the kitchen again. "Eesh, they've got to come up for air sometime, or risk damage to brain cells," Donatello mumbled as he started to help Mikey clean.

"Did Leo seem a bit off, tonight?"

"Yeah, man. He seemed uber pissed. Did you guys have a fight or something? Cuz when he snuck in he was all in stealth mode and buzzing like he was all excited about somethin'."

Donatello considered this information. "Hmm."

"Mhmm." Mikey raised his brows and swept the rest of the crumbs into the waste basket that Donatello held against the edge of the table.

Raphael sauntered into the kitchen. "'Sup?" he asked generally, and grinned wide enough to make Donatello's face drop in disgust.

He tossed a garbage bag at Raphael's chest, which he caught with one hand. "You keep grinning like that and your face is going to get stuck that way, you know. It's a scientific fact."

Raphael merely smirked at him. "Jealous," he grunted under his breath and Donatello ignored him, though his face burned.

"You know, you don't have to rub it in," Mikey said morosely from the side of the refrigerator where he emerged with the broom.

"What," Raph asked, arms outstretched, still grinning like an ape.

"Get the bottles out of the living room," Don barked.

"Yes, mom."

"Hey," Donatello called as an afterthought, ignoring the jibe. Raph paused. The look on his face was guarded but relaxed the moment he realized Don was not about to grill him about his relationship with April. "Where did Leo say he was going tonight?"

Raphael frowned, thinking. "He didn't."

"But we know he didn't leave with Splinter."

Raph and Mikey exchanged glances. "That's right. Why?"

Donatello felt a flicker of real worry stir in the back of his mind. Pieces were falling into place and the puzzle taking shape was a disturbing omen. The way Leo had gone all stiff and strained at his mention of the Foot soldier earlier, how his eyes had changed. _It wasn't because he was angry with me for bringing it up, was it?_ _Oh for Newton's apple._ Donatello's heart picked up the pace. His mouth became cottony and he worked his tongue against the back of his teeth, side to side, side to side, as his mind raced.

Could he have sought her out? Would he be that reckless? _Don't jump to conclusions. Build a theory and test it. Only then can you discover facts rather than make assumptions. _

"It's nothing." He looked at Mikey who seemed unsure. "Really, I'm sure he's just in a bad mood because Splinter isn't home to give him extra chores."

Raphael snorted at that and left the room. Mikey continued to look uneasy. Donatello jumped as his youngest brother whistled, low and haunting.

"You can't fool me, Donnie. Somethin's up, ain't it, bro? I can feel the negative vibes."

He shuddered melodramatically and Donatello, had he not been feeling the exact same uneasiness would have scoffed at him, but remained still.

"Bad mojo, Donnie. Me no likey."

"Me no likey either," Donatello mumbled without realizing it.

And Michelangelo moved to stand next to him where both boys stared through the plastic curtain to their older brother's bedroom door.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks so much for reading! I plan on keeping this story more or less light-hearted - at least in comparison to what is going to go down with Tender Trap III: Sins of the Fathers.


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